Friday, January 27, 2006

Dress Shoes of Doom

Back in October, Zinger posted the following comment after I talked about my experiences at the BSU:

Anytime you mention the BSU, it reminds me of the day that OSU beat UMass to go to the Final Four in '95... :)
I had meant to talk about that a while back, but got distracted by other things. But when I heard someone mention the BSU earlier this week, the story sprang to mind,and I had to share.

Back during my Sophomore year of college, the OSU Cowboys basketball team made it to the NCAA Final Four. There was, of course, much rejoicing throughout the campus, but I was unfortunately not able to partake of it, since I had to go off with the BSU Drama Team to perform. So, while everyone else was piling into their cars and dragging the streets of Stillwater, honking and hooting and hollering, I was changing into my dress clothes and heading over to the BSU. I got there a little early (as usual) and so was standing out in front of the building watching the endless parade of exuberant Cowboys fans slowly circling the campus when I noticed that one of the cars making its way past the BSU belonged to Pooh, who was carting around Zinger and Coronela. They saw me ad started waving, and since they were moving at a snail's pace, I decided to run over and say hi. So, I set out jogging across the BSU lawn and the next thing I knew, I was down. Apparently, my dress shoes didn't like the idea of me running across the wet grass while wearing them, and took appropriate measures to stop me, i.e. flying out from under me. This display of my klutziness was greeted with roars of laughter from Pooh and the others, of course, and the memory has provided them with ammo for years and years.

However, none of them were around for the next time my shoes decided to teach me a lesson. Again, I was decked out for the BSU drama team; this time the shoes rebelled during a skit. Here's how the skit is supposed to go: one person stands center stage and acts like they're fishing and have caught something big that they can't reel in alone, so they call over the other members of the team, until everyone is acting like they're reeling this big catch in. And what's the big catch?

Why, me, of course.

At the start of the skit I would be positioned at the back of the auditorium/sanctuary/whatever. At the first hint of the first person having "caught" something, I would start moving towards the stage, hands plastered to my sides, legs locked together, hopping forward a few bounces, and then hopping backwards, head moving furiously to show that I was hooked. I would eventually make it to the front, flop up on stage, be helped to my feet, and recite Matthew 4:19: "'Come, follow me', Jesus said, 'and I will make you fishers of men'."

Or, at least, that's how it usually went.

On this one occasion, the Dress Shoes of Doom had something else in mind. Possibly emboldened by their victory on the BSU lawn, the shoes decided to voice their protest over being hopped upon repeatedly much the same way they had protested before: by flying out from under me, sending me hurtling to the church floor (most of the youth thought that my fall was part of the act, and later complimented me on my realistic pratfall). Undeterred, I sprung back up to my feet and continued my journey towards the stage, a journey which was slightly easier now that I didn't have to worry about having both of my shoes rebel against me; you see, the left one had decided to use the confusion of my fall to make a break for it. I made it to the front, said my line, and then rushed off to retrieve the sinister (in both senses of the word) shoe before it could finalize its escape and spread its slick-bottomed evil on the unsuspecting world. Disheartened, the shoes' spirits were broken, and no further rebellions were attempted. I do think that they somehow managed to pass the word on to their dress-shoe brethren however; one pair in particular decided to make my feet writhe in agony when I was a groomsman at Wrath teh Berzerkr's wedding.

And now The Singles know the true answer to why I never wear dress shoes at church.

I'm afraid.

I'm very afraid.